


You've Got Allure I Can't Deny

by easyluckyfree45



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, Art History, Artists, Bughead Fest (Riverdale), F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Museums, Tattoos, it's just fluff y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easyluckyfree45/pseuds/easyluckyfree45
Summary: When she enters, she’s surprised to see someone sketching in the corner. He’s seated on a gallery stool, a pad of paper in hand. He’s sitting in front of her favorite portrait of Madame X. It’s the one that she’s spent countless hours in front of, staring, mesmerized by the undulations in the paint.She approaches him cautiously. He’s wearing dark black jeans and a plaid flannel. Atop his head is a grey beanie which she finds unusual since it’s a warm spring night. He’s sketching furiously, the graphite smeared over the white-woven paper and his fingers. He moves for something in his bag and she sees that it’s an eraser. He corrects something on the page.She steps forward. Technically, he’s not supposed to use erasers in the galleries.Bughead Fest - Prompt: Tattoo Artist, College
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 35
Kudos: 114
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Bughead Fest Collection





	You've Got Allure I Can't Deny

**Author's Note:**

> Is this fic essentially an art history lesson? Why yes, yes it is. 
> 
> Title is from “Nothing Better” by The Postal Service.
> 
> Thank you ([miss-eee](https://miss-eee.tumblr.com/)) for organizing Bughead Fest!
> 
> **Your prompt is: body paint/tattoos (one is the artist and one is the canvas)**  
>  **For the: College age bracket.**
> 
> [Madame X portrait](https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/madame-x-madame-pierre-gautreau/XQFBdVEh0NHo0A?hl=en)  
> [Mrs. Hugh Hammersley portrait](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/16255)  
> [Assyrian relief](https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/70569)  
> [Winged figures](https://www.flickr.com/photos/rosemania/86746793)  
> [Dolce Far Niente](https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/2)
> 
> The biggest thanks to Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for being the most wonderful beta ever!

_So we don’t gotta go there_  
_Past lovers and warfare_  
_It’s just you and me now_  
_I don’t know your secrets_  
_But I’ll pick up the pieces_  
_Pull you close to me now_

_“Waste it on me” by BTS_

The galleries are quiet tonight.

Betty readjusts her bright red apron, which is emblazoned with the Met 150 logo and filled with maps and information pamphlets. The weight bumps against her knees as she ascends the stairs, moving from the period rooms to the Colonial America section. Her feet follow this familiar path towards her favorite gallery – Portraiture in the Grand Manner. It’s where she often goes to hide, getting lost in the figural representations.

There’s only a handful of visitors as she walks through the galleries, looking for someone that she can possibly assist or guide, but no one asks for her help. This is pretty typical for a Friday night. It’s almost 8PM and most people her age are probably out partying or partaking in some sort of social function.

Meanwhile, Betty Cooper is here, in a museum, getting lost within its galleries. When she first got the job, she had to admit – she thought it would be more glamorous. After all, it’s the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It hosts the Met Ball each year – the most extravagant, celebrity filled glitz and glamour event. It’s only after working there for three months that she realizes that event is actually hosted by the Costume Institute which meant that her dream of maybe one day meeting her celebrity crushes were foiled.

She likes her job though. It’s a work study position that provides relatively flexible hours and decent pay. Granted, she might be the only college student in the city that would willingly give up her Friday nights to wander around a museum.

Her job is simple. She helps people.

And, Betty Cooper loves to help people so really, it’s an ideal situation. More often than not, she’s answering questions of where to find the bathroom but on the rare occasion, she gets someone who is interested in art and she can put her expensive education to work.

An older couple stops her before she can step into the next gallery and she quickly turns, patiently answering their questions. She walks them to the location that they’re looking for and once they’re there, they gratefully thank her. She smiles and waves goodbye before she retreats to her favorite spot.

When she enters, she’s surprised to see someone sketching in the corner. He’s seated on a gallery stool, a pad of paper in hand. He’s sitting in front of her favorite portrait of Madame X. It’s the one that she’s spent countless hours in front of, staring, mesmerized by the undulations in the paint.

She approaches him cautiously. He’s wearing dark black jeans and a plaid flannel. Atop his head is a grey beanie which she finds unusual since it’s a warm spring night. He’s sketching furiously, the graphite smeared over the white-woven paper and his fingers. He moves for something in his bag and she sees that it’s an eraser. He corrects something on the page.

She steps forward. Technically, he’s not supposed to use erasers in the galleries.

She tamps down the rule following compulsion within her. After another few steps, she realizes that he has no idea she’s walking up behind him, much less occupying the same space as him. As she gets closer, she realizes that he’s sketching bits and pieces of the portrait – Madame X’s pale white hand grasping the folds of her black dress, the sharpness of her nose as she turns in profile, the serpentine curve of her dress’s neckline. The pages are scattered on the floor around him and Betty is mesmerized.

He’s very talented.

“You’re very talented.”

She’s an idiot. Did she just say verbatim what she is thinking? Didn’t she have a brain to mouth filter?

If he’s surprised by her presence, he doesn’t show it.

“Thank you,” he says, eyes still focused on the painting and his pad of paper.

She walks up a little closer, standing next to him now. “You know when Madame Gautreau first sat for Sargent, he painted her with the right shoulder strap of her gown falling down. When he exhibited it in Paris though, critics and crowds were outraged at her overt sexualization and it completely humiliated both the sitter and the artist. The sitter’s mother even wrote to Sargent, asking him to withdraw the piece from exhibition. Sargent refused but he later painted over the strap so that it was on her shoulder again, more clearly affixed to her.”

He’s quiet, avidly listening to her story. He looks up at her and she glances away quickly, not wanting to get lost in the most beautiful cerulean blue of his eyes.

“It’s ironic because now this painting is considered a masterpiece and one of Sargent’s most famous works.” Betty finishes softly.

They’re quiet for a few moments, both taking in the beautiful portrait in front of them. Betty leans forward and gestures over towards the left of the painting.

“I’ve always loved the way he paints clothing. I think I could lose myself in the texture of the surfaces.”

He sits silent, as if entranced by her. He rights himself in his seat and clears his throat. “I think contrasting her silk dress with the polished wooden table is a challenge. I’m trying to replicate it but I can’t seem to get it right.”

“Well, you’re using a pencil and he was using oil so the mediums are vastly different.”

“I suppose.” He looks as if he’s contemplating her observation.

“Are you an art student?”

“Sort of,” he answers, smiling. “I’m a tattoo artist. I come here to sketch and to find inspiration.”

She’s surprised that she hasn’t seen him here before.

“I’m Betty.” She reaches out to shake his hand but then realizes that his hands are a mess. She retracts it sheepishly.

He’s smiling at her, apologetic. “I’m Jughead.”

They talk a little more about Sargent’s techniques and Betty points at another portrait hanging nearby. The woman wears a luscious pink silk-velvet dress laced with gold trim.

“Look at how sumptuous the textures in this portrait are. She’s both literally and figuratively draped in the most expensive fabrics, surrounded in the most ornately decorated environment. It’s as if she’s a decorative adornment as well.”

Jughead examines the gallery label. “Well, the title is Mrs. Whatever Her Husband’s Name Is.”

Betty nods. “This was painted after Madame X and it helped Sargent re-establish his reputation as a respectable portrait artist after that whole debacle and scandal.”

He listens so intently to her and she’s surprised because she’s never really had someone pay this much attention to her, hanging onto her every word. It’s a little disconcerting and she starts rambling a bit about high society during that period.

When she finally finishes, she presses her lips together, mentally berating herself for being incapable of shutting up. She glances at her watch and sees that the museum closes in 20 minutes.

“You might want to wrap up. We’re closing soon.”

“Oh, right,” he says as he gathers his supplies. She kneels down alongside him and helps sort his drawings into one pile before handing it over to him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

She stands back up and smooths down her apron. “Well, I guess maybe I’ll see you around.”

She’s about to turn on her heel when he stops her.

“Do you- do you maybe want to get a coffee or something?”

“It’s 9 PM on a Friday night.”

“Okay, a slice of pizza and a coke?”

She beams at him. “That sounds lovely.”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When Jughead suggested going out for a slice of pizza and a coke, Betty didn’t realize that he would consider a quarter of a pizza ‘a slice’. The portions at the stand-in only pizza shop are gigantic and after about five bites, she finds that she’s already full. She looks down at the gloriously greasy cheese pizza slice. She barely made a dent.

She shuffles her plate around the counter top and watches as Jughead inhales his second slice. She’s honestly impressed. He’s slim and toned. She wonders where all the food goes.

“So, where do you work?” It’s such a basic question and she resists the urge to smack her forehead with the palm of her hand.

“At a tattoo shop in east village.”

“Wow, and you come all the way up here to sketch?”

“I switch off between the Met, MoMA, and the Whitney.”

Well, that explains why she’s never seen him. She’s probably missed him all the previous times he’s been in the galleries.

“Have you ever been to the Brooklyn Museum?”

He shakes his head no and takes another big bite of pizza.

“If you’re looking for inspiration, I would highly recommend it. They have a phenomenal collection.” She nibbles at the corner of a slice. “They’ve got one of the largest collections of Sargent’s watercolors.”

“I’d definitely be interested in seeing those,” he admits.

“Maybe-“ she pauses, debating just how brave she wants to be tonight. “Maybe we could go sometime?”

“Yeah, okay.” He smiles so widely at her.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

_This is not a date_ , Betty tells herself as she paces in front of the austere building. She is simply helping out a kind stranger that seems interested in learning more about art. It doesn’t matter that he’s the most devastatingly attractive man that she’s met in a very long time. So what if she thinks that she can lose herself in the blues of his eyes and the baritone smoothness of his voice? None of that matters because this is definitely not a date.

Betty smooths down her pencil skirt and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous if it’s not a date.

She looks down at her phone for the millionth time. She’s early, but that’s nothing new. She takes a seat on one of the many benches in front of the museum and surveys her surroundings. She doesn’t really come out to Brooklyn very often, much less all the way out by Prospect Park, but the area is beautiful and she thinks that she should make the trek more often.

She leans back and closes her eyes, tilting her face towards the sun, enjoying its warm rays.

“Hi.”

Betty opens her eyes and sees Jughead staring down at her, amusement coloring his face.

“Do you need a moment?”

She flushes in embarrassment and shakes her head. She stands up and smooths down her skirt, yet again. “Shall we?”

She gestures towards the museum and instead of waiting for his response, she starts walking towards the entrance. Jughead catches up with her easily though. _Curse his long legs_ , she thinks. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like this. She’s the one that invited him in the first place for goodness sake but being around him just makes her flustered and she feels like all rational thought escapes her.

They walk in through the doors and she stops Jughead when he moves towards the admissions desk.

“I can get us in for free,” Betty says as she holds up her Met ID badge.

She leaves him standing in the front lobby as she heads to the admissions counter. After a few minutes, she reappears, smiling with tickets in hand. “Success!”

“Wow, this is so exclusive,” he teases.

She blushes again and asks him about his day. He tells her about a few interesting clients and she finds that she loves how passionate he gets when he talks about his work. She can tell that he really loves the design and creative aspect of the art.

They start to walk towards the galleries and Betty leads them towards one of her favorite parts of the museum.

“They have an amazing Ancient Near Eastern collection.”

She leads them to stand in front of a large alabaster relief. She points out the Assyrian figure and intricacies of its wings. “Look at how detailed the markings are. I mean, it’s so precise and this is all hand-carved so imagine how meticulous you have to be.”

“You’d definitely have to have a steady hand.” He leans in closer to examine the detailing. “I’ve seen similar figures at the Met.”

“Yeah, they have the large human-headed winged lion and bull statues and carvings. It’s really impressive. I don’t know if I could ever have the skill to do something like this.”

He agrees and they walk in silence a little further into the next gallery, eventually splitting off and exploring the artworks at their own pace. He joins her every so often and she talks about what she loves and admires. He listens, seemingly captivated by what she’s saying but she wonders if she’s talking too much and rambling on again.

They eventually make it to the Sargent gallery, the entire purpose of their field trip here. Betty points out a few of her favorite artworks and explains a bit about Sargent's techniques with oil versus watercolor.

“I think in his watercolors, you can really see him at work. He’s so much freer in this medium and he experiments and takes risks that he usually doesn’t do in his paintings,” she explains.

She points at a watercolor of an enlarged rock in a stream. “This is almost completely abstract which is very unusual for him.”

“Unpopular opinion but I think I might actually like his watercolors more than his paintings,” Jughead says as he surveys the room.

“I actually agree with you. His watercolors are phenomenal,” she replies as she walks towards one of her favorite artworks in the entire gallery. “But, I just love this piece,” she says softly, mostly to herself as Jughead is across the room, looking at something else.

The painting depicts a few figures lying idly on the grass next to a small stream, playing chess. They are all relaxed, clearly enjoying the weather and their surroundings. Betty doesn’t know how long she stands in front of the work, staring off at the beauty of it.

Jughead comes up behind her and places his hand at the small of her back, drawing her attention to the present.

“Is this your favorite?”

“It is,” she says with a smile. “I just love the way he paints the white costumes, you know? The fabrics are so sensual and I just get lost in the curvature.”

He leans forward and reads the title off the gallery label. “ _Dolce Far Niente_. What does that mean?”

“It’s Italian for ‘it is sweet doing nothing’.”

“You speak Italian?” He asks, clearly impressed.

“Oh no,” she says hurriedly. “Not at all but I’ve read that gallery label at least fifty times at this point. I just love that saying.”

Her voice takes on a dreamy tone and she’s almost wistful. “It just seems like a wonderful dream, all of it.” She points at the painting. “An escape from the harsh light of reality. It reminds you to stop every once in a while and just breathe.”

“I don’t think I know what that means,” he replies with a laugh. “I think that’s the antithesis of this city – stopping and relaxing? Not at all what New Yorkers do.”

“That’s so true.” She agrees. “But, it’s a nice sentiment, don’t you think?”

“It’s something to aspire to,” he says diplomatically.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

They spend another hour wandering through the special exhibition and by the end, Betty’s feet are throbbing, tired from all the walking. They exit the museum and she bites her lip as her eyes dart towards him.

So, what now?

“You hungry?” He asks. “There’s this great Ethiopian place a few blocks from here.”

“That sounds great.”

They walk slowly, enjoying the nice weather. She asks him about his sketches and inquires if he’s ever taken classes or if he’s self-taught.

“I took a few classes in figural representation. It was super helpful to actually learn the techniques but I find that a lot of what I do is self-taught. Tattoo art is more a niche genre.”

“That makes sense. I think it’s pretty amazing that you get to find inspiration in a beautiful place like this.” She points back at the museum. “And then actually apply it to your work.”

“What do you want to do after you graduate?”

“That’s the burning question, isn’t it? You know, when I was younger and more idealistic, I wanted to be noble, save the world, all that jazz.” She let out a small laugh. “For the longest time, I thought I’d just follow in my parents’ footsteps and go into journalism but I don’t want to be just a carbon copy of them, you know? I want to do something more.”

“You still sound idealistic to me.”

She pauses in her steps and turns to him. “Is it at least endearing?”

“Very much so,” he answers honestly. He nods towards a restaurant across the street. “That’s it right there. Shall we?”

They make their way into the restaurant. Betty eagerly pores over the menu and peers at him over the top. She knows what she wants to ask but she really shouldn’t ask it because she still wants to retain some sort of feminine mystique. It’s a lost cause.

“Is this a date?”

Jughead looks up and his eyes widen in amusement. “Do you want this to be a date?”

She rolls her eyes. Of course he would answer a question with a question. “Do you want this to be a date?” He shouldn’t underestimate her. She’s Alice Cooper’s daughter.

“I do,” he replies.

He smirks at her and she knows her cheeks are flushed. She ducks her head back behind the safety of the large menu.

Eventually, they decide to share a few entrees. She lets Jughead do the ordering since he seems familiar with the restaurant. When the large platter arrives, they immediately dig in. It’s absolutely delicious and she didn’t realize how hungry she was until she devoured nearly a fifth of the plate.

“I might have to come back here,” she says around a bite of seasoned cabbage.

“This place is a favorite. I always make the trek out here because it’s totally worth it.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs in agreement before she takes another bite. She feels a fuzzy warmth start to spread in her stomach because it makes her feel special that he actually shared a favorite restaurant of his with her. She thinks she wants to be brave tonight. “How about I show you one of my favorites tomorrow?”

He meets her gaze and she takes in a breath, lost in the stormy blue of his eyes. “Sounds like a date.”

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Her first thought is that the leather seats are really comfortable. Betty wiggles a little more in the chair and settles further in. She takes in a deep breath and stares at the cracks in the ceiling. She’s nervous but she doesn’t know why she is. It’s not like she hasn’t done this before. She’s actually done it twice before so this is really nothing new.

But, she feels like she can trace the movement of every single butterfly in her stomach and her hands are damp with perspiration. She doesn’t know how to rid herself of these feelings.

Jughead enters the room with a smile and she feels the flutters start once more. She offers him a strained purse of her lips and curses herself for being so awkward around attractive dark haired tattoo artists.

“You okay?” He asks before he cocks his head to the side, observing her. “Nervous?”

“Yeah,” she admits shyly. “I don’t even know why. It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

He places his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “It’s totally normal to be nervous. But, just take a deep breath and know that we can stop at any time, okay?”

And that’s all it takes. His soothing voice and the sweet smile on his face puts her racing thoughts at ease and she can feel her mind start to quiet as she leans back against the chair and lets him work his magic.

He’s skilled and efficient. She only has two other tattoo experiences to compare it to but she can tell by how delicate and gentle he is that he truly cares about his art and craft. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work. She finds herself entranced as he traces the ink lines on her skin.

She knows the wrist is a painful part of the body to get a tattoo on -- something about the skin being thin there and many bones in the area. She sits back, staring at the words on her arm after he’s done and thinks that it’s totally worth the discomfort. He smooths some lotion over it and sits back in his stool, waiting for her reaction.

“Well?”

The curvy script winds up and down her wrist and reads ‘ _Dolce Far Niente_ ’.

She smiles at him. “It’s perfect.” She leans up and he places a gentle kiss on her lips.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers softly against her mouth.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


End file.
